Crystal Castles, or, how a strobe light took 3 years of my life but i don't care.

Dear Web Journal,

I am just going to get straight down to it: the show I saw last night was one of the best I’ve seen this year. Yeah, yeah, we’re only 3 months in, but if Health and Crystal Castles can make me feel as euphoric as I did when leaving-equilibrium fucked up and ears gloriously ringing-in spite of it being at Studio B, then you know it had to be good. Not to disparage the venue too harshly. The sound is always fantastic, but I HATE the way they make you wait around from one set to the next, precariously leaving enough time to dissolve whatever high you get from one band before the next comes on.

But as I’m saying, my usual grumpiness that evolves out of 1) cutesy little girls that can’t figure out how to not squirm around next to me and 2) the waiting waiting waiting was totally way-laid by both bands. I knew nothing about Health before seeing them, and even watching all the elaborate equipment set up (an electronic drum kit and keyboard placed on the floor, various guitars and microphones strewn about the set, an actual drum kit in its usual place at the back), I was not prepared for the aural assault to come. I don’t really know what to say---so much energy and all members but the drummer threw themselves around stage. But even in their manic style of play, from banging a single drumstick on the floor kit and doing back spasms on each upswing to swinging the guitar on a strap around their necks, they sounded put together. It was noisy, but it wasn’t noise. I tried taking pictures, but sadly, my camera battery died after the first. So here you go:


Even with the blur of all four band members, the picture does not do justice to what I witnessed. It’s as if I showed you this:



But what I really experienced was this:



Only with additional fireworks and maybe some feral cats. I got lazy in Photoshop.

And then Crystal Castles. Imagine Joan of Arc in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, when she takes over the aerobics class in the mall. But with short black hair and smoky black eye makeup. And instead of to some cheesy 80s aerobic tape, all the high knees, floor-thrashing and bouncing around is to mind blowing dirty electronica meets summer on Ibiza meets her voice being put through 1, 2, 3, probably more, different manipulations, from the heavy whisper-scream (hahh, hahh) to her normal pitch to whatever that distortion is on the song "Crimewave".

And oh! the crowd. With one leg up on an amp at the front of the stage, she would lean in towards the front row and the hands would come from everywhere, clawing at her shirt like lepers waiting to be healed. Does that sound dramatic? Good. Because that's exactly what it was. And most of this is done with a strobe light flashing furiously throughout the entire performance. When I tried to leave, I was so disoriented from the combination of strobe and volume and AWESOME. My friend and I had trouble talking on the walk back. Whoa.

Love, Rachael

www.myspace.com/crystalcastles
www.myspace.com/healthmusic

Klaxons at Studio B, or how I forgot how much fun other people's sweat is.

Dear Web Journal,

I have a little secret for you. I don’t know what the fuck “new rave” is supposed to mean. And to add to my confusion, Klaxons, the NME-named forerunners of the current “new rave” music trend penetrating the States from over the pond and the undeniable stars of Friday night’s gig at Brooklyn’s Studio B, have said they are not “new rave” (all self-respecting musicians discard labels, right?). Which leaves me hoping there is some complex musical theory to back it up, whatever “it” is, including time changes and, um, other music terms I don’t really understand. Because just throwing in glow sticks and a bunch of kids on E like its the late 1990s shouldn’t be enough. But sketchy “new rave” label or no, Klaxons were a fucking great time.

Doors were supposed to open at 10 pm on Friday, but by the time I walked that long, slightly scary walk from the Bedford L stop and arrived at 10:30, the lines outside were massive. Luckily enough, I ran into some friends “saving my place in line” at will call and had a nice spot at the front. Thanks friends! Once inside we went to the front of the stage to wait for the opening act. The crowd quickly filled up and though I was not too impressed with Brazil’s Bonde do Role, I was impressed by Bonde do Role’s female singer’s leopard print pants:



And my friend Nathan was even MORE impressed by how sexy he thought she was. I have to hand it to Bonde do Role though, even if the music was just Portuguese screamed-talked-sung over Guns n' Roses and even a *gasp* sample from The Darkness, the energy was the perfect pace setter for Klaxons. Plus, her leopard pants were REALLY, REALLY cool. In that I-would-never-wear-them-but-I’ll-totally-support-you-if-you-do kind of way.

After a laborious set change (what is it with Studio B only having ONE person set up instruments?) Klaxons came out to one of the most welcoming crowds I’ve seen in a long time. And I don’t mean just in “Too cool for school” New York, but anywhere I’ve been. At the precise moment they took the stage, a gap opened up and I was pushed through by the crowd to the very front. Right in front of the cute one, too:



No really, everyone around me was totally jonesing for this kid. Including this annoying British girl (aren’t they all) who tried to elbow her way past me. Where exactly she thought she might go I haven’t a clue-the crowd was so large and packed so thick there was nowhere to move. Her explanation for the pushing was “Excuse me, I have to get there so I can get Jamie to take his shirt off”. Now, what makes her think I am going to give up my perfectly good spot at the front of the stage, where every second finds me slammed (deliciously) into a very large amp by the lurching sea of sweaty people behind me, so she can “get” some skinny white boy (albeit the cute one) to take his shirt off? Furthermore, after taking a good look at this girl, nothing about her convinced me she had some special “get guys to take their shirts off” power. Because if she did, then maybe we’d have to be friends.

But I digress. Although not really, because it brings me to my next point. Klaxon's music is really sexy. I don't understand how or why, but it is. And the reaction of the crowd totally backs up how sexy it is. This may sound weird (it would be unlike me of it weren't), but I had forgotten how great it feels to be covered in your own sweat and the sweat of everyone around you. They played everything you'd expect, opening with "The Bouncer" (or maybe not, I don't really pay attention to set list orders. I mean, who really cares anyway?) and mixing their numerous singles through out the rest of the set. "Magick" (my favorite) and "Gravity's Rainbow" sounded especially good to me. The show ended too quickly, I wish I'd tried to see them multiple nights while they were in New York.

And oooo look, it's the cute one again:





And the, um, other Klaxons:



And some sweaty, happy people:




So thanks, Klaxons. I'm glad you were worth the hype. And blah, blah, blah.

Love, Rachael

The Thermals, The Horrors and Me, or, how i like my version better

Dear Web Journal,

I like music. Yes, oh yes, I do. And not really being skilled in playing anything myself, I have to listen to other people instead (am I sad about this? Maybe a wee bit). This week, being CMJ and all, I was bound to see some shows. Monday I saw The Presets again, with the Rapture. Good fucking show-Webster Hall was full of actual, dancing people, instead of the kind that don't stand too near the stage, and then refuse to look like they are enjoying themselves. You know what kind of people I am talking about. So I hope the Presets impressed some people, and the Rapture are, in fact, a great live band. Better than they are on CD. But that's not the show I want to talk about.

The show I want to talk about is one I went to on Friday night at Studio B in Greenpoint/Williamsburg/I dunno. Studio B is, I gather, one of these Polish night clubs popping up as music venues. I was really only there to see two bands (please reference the title), but not being one of these people who don't show up for opening acts, I got to the show fairly early.

The first two acts were all from the West Coast. I don't really have more than that to say-Ferraby Lionheart (Los Angeles) was too mellow for me, and Birdmonster (San Francisco-my first love) were good but forgettable.

Henry had shown up by this point (not too impressed either, I'm sure). So we went outside to smoke a cigarette. AND THAT'S WHEN IT HAPPENED! The lead singer of The Thermals came out through the door we were standing next to.

Me: "Pssst, Henry. That's the lead singer from the Thermals".

Henry: "Huh?"

Then Mr. Thermals lit his own cigarette, and said "Hey, mind if I smoke with you guys? (to me) I like your shoes".


Me: "Thanks man, your band is pretty cool. Yeah, really looking forward to the show."

Mr. Thermals: "Oh I'm so glad you think so. Especially since your shoes are so cool! Would you like me to dedicate a song to you?"

Me: "Haha that won't be necessary. Well, we're gonna head back inside now. Good luck".

(Ok, so here's what really happened. Mr. Thermals comes out two feet away from us, I discreetly point him out to Henry-yes, I can be discreet- he lights his cigarette, makes eye contact-maybe I'm not so discreet-and then moves past us. But I like my version better. And you know how you know the conversation is fake? I don't actually address anyone as "man".)

In all seriousness though, the fucking Thermals were fucking great. Henry and I had been standing comfortably during the set just prior, but as soon as Sam Champion finished their last song, the floor got very crowded very quickly. The Thermals played a great set of good, clean-sounding pop punk. I had a fantastic time dancing around. I mean, I'm no shrinking violet when it comes to dancing. I danced so much I knocked an earring out of my own ear. The crowd were definitely there to see The Thermals, and the energy reverberated between the band and the fans to the point that I forgot about my stressful job for the entirety of their set. Amen.


(I did not take these pictures, because i donot have a digital camera)

RaRaRiot played in between the Thermals and the Horrors. They were decent sounding, but they covered Kate Bush's "Hounds of Love" as their last song. Great song, but The Futureheads kind of cornered the market on that one for this generation.

By now, it was late in the evening, I had switched to whiskey and coke long ago and my poor feet were tired (cool shoes or not). And The Horrors took forever to get their set going. Many people left. But luckily, I have an infinite amount of patience. And thank god, too, because though the Thermals definitely were best band on the night, the Horrors were not far behind.

Say what you will about the band being more about their clothing, hair and make up then anything else. I say, that's the whole fucking point. The swagger, the theatricality, the keyboardist coming out and banging on his keys like a demented young thing! Was he playing actual notes? I don't know, but it didn't matter. And it's not like those boys don't know a thing about music, either. In their somewhat unfinished cool garage-y sound, you can hear the surf rock and punk influences. Sure, the single "Sheena was a Parasite" could have sounded a lot cleaner, but with a few more songs under their belt they should be an entertaining band with an entertaining look AND sound for a little while yet.

Faris, the lead singer, jumped into the audience three times, each time landing right next to me. Talk about audience participation. Maybe it was a good thing that not too many people stuck around. On the third time he jumped over my left shoulder, clipping it with his boot. We danced on the floor together, round and round a bit before he climbed back onto the stage. Ok, maybe I was dancing with him, maybe he chose me because he thought to himself (in a Southend London accent) "Bloody hell, that facking bird knows wot she's doing". Or maybe, it just looked like I got tangled in his mic cord. But whatever, I like my version better.



Love,
Rachael